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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982848">Trolley Problem</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandwhiteroses/pseuds/redandwhiteroses'>redandwhiteroses</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Saw (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Mentions of Cancer, Philosophical Discussions, Philosophy, Reader's dad has cancer, Reader-Insert, Saw Traps (Saw Movies), discussions of torture and murder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:09:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982848</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandwhiteroses/pseuds/redandwhiteroses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Your life is more than a little turbulent, given that your dad is dying of cancer. While with your dad at a chemo appointment, you end up meeting one of your idols. To your surprise, you and your idol have much of the same point of view on life and how humanity wastes it. The questions is: how similar are your views? Do your views extend beyond the hypothetical and into the real world?</p><p>“I’d like to think that I’d be strong enough, whether that’s of will or of stomach, to escape a trap, but I can’t know for certain until I’m in a life or death situation like that. Anything I say at this point is mere speculation.” You look down at your coffee cup. The cardboard sleeve is rough against your hands. Some of the warmth has been lost, leached out of it.  “I’ve been through a lot, John. Certainly more than you would think someone my age has been through. I’ve been through things no one should have to go through. But those situations were not the level of life or death that these... traps? Tests? I’m not sure what to call them. Point being. I can give you all kinds of reasons as to why I would survive, but it could all go out the window in the moment.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John "Jigsaw" Kramer/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Trolley Problem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Honestly, a lot of this came from the fact that Saw has a weird relationship with philosophy and ethics. For being the father of the torture porn series, the first one is oddly philosophical. I thought it might be fun to explore that with this fic</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You're staring." Your dad's voice brings you back to yourself. You whip around to look at him. He's got that fond grin on his face, the one he gets when he knows what you're going to do before you do. You clear your throat. That makes your dad’s grin get wider.</p><p>“I feel bad for him.” You confess. You keep your voice low. You have to fight the urge to look back at the man. He’s several chairs down from where you and your dad are. You rub your arms absent-mindedly. “This has to be one of the hardest times in his life, and no one is ever with him.”</p><p>“If I had my way, I’d be doing this by myself.” You give your dad a reproachful look. “What? A man is entitled to some independence.”</p><p>“He is, but he also has to recognize that he’s dying of cancer and might need help.”</p><p>Your father makes a displeased noise. He closes his eyes. “Why do you think you’re with me today if I don’t let people help me?”</p><p>You resist the urge to groan. You drop your head to the edge of his recliner. Your dad doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at your reaction. “I’m going to go get something to drink.” You stand up. “Do you want anything?”</p><p>“No thank you.” </p><p>“Are you sure?” </p><p>Normally, you wouldn’t double check, just take his word for it. He was fairly good about letting you know if he needed your help with anything or if there was anything you could do to help him. The only reason you double-checked was because of how weak he sounded. It came in waves. Sometimes he would sound and look fine, as if the cancer was merely a shared nightmare that your entire family had. Other times, he would sound weak and fragile out of nowhere. He would go from your father as you remembered him to a scared, dying old man. Those were the worst because reality would hit you like a ton of bricks. He was scared. He was dying. You would do all you could, he was doing all he could, and the doctors were doing what they could. But all that hard work wasn’t a guarantee. He could live another 15 years, or he could live 6 months. You had no good idea.</p><p>He opens one eye to look at you. He’s giving you the Smaug look, the kind a displeased dragon does when awoken from its nap. “Positive.” You hold up your hands. The corners of his lips twitch upwards as he closes his eyes. You pad away towards the vending machines. The cancer center did have snacks and drinks, but it was never anything your dad liked. You pause for a moment and regard the only other person in the room.</p><p>You never had seen anyone sitting with the man before, and you had a feeling you never would. You weren’t sure if it was by choice or not. He had a sketchbook to one side and a magazine in his hands. He seemed engrossed in it. You look at him for a long minute.</p><p>“It wouldn’t be bad.” You mutter under your breath before going over to him. He looked up as you heard him approaching. </p><p>“Hi.” You give him a nervous smile. “I’m going to get something for my dad from the vending machines, but while I was up, I thought I’d see if you needed anything as well.”</p><p>To your surprise, the man closes his magazine and puts it to the side. “No, thank you. I do appreciate the offer.” His voice is slightly raspy as if he doesn’t use it often. “It’s very kind of you.”</p><p>You blush slightly. You’re never sure how to accept compliments. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” You turn away and pad towards the vending machines. It doesn’t take you long to get there. They weren’t close per say, but you’d been through the winding halls and tunnels enough to know where they were. The selection was awful. At least the drinks were more appealing than the ones in the cancer center. Besides, you always felt guilty even thinking about taking the drinks and snacks meant for the patients. It must be your lucky day because both the drink and snack machines are working fine. You don’t have to slam into them to get your chips to drop out. You scoop up your prizes and make your way back to the center.</p><p>Your dad is sleeping by the time you get back. You fall down into the seat beside his and pull out your backpack. You might as well get through some of your more tedious coursework while you waited. You had no problem with the actual homework from Thermo; you just hated the reading you had to do. You look at the assigned reading and groan. You had over half of it left to do. Ever the diligent student, you let yourself slump in your chair for a second before picking up your pen and taking notes. </p><p>It was one of the longer sessions for your dad’s chemo treatments. That meant that you always got a good amount of work done. It depended entirely on how your dad did with the treatment and how much you had to do for school, but you usually came away feeling like you got a decent amount accomplished. It’s not long before you get bored of reading Thermo. You stretch out. Your dad was going in and out of sleep. The treatments were not pain-free, but he was so tired from the chemicals he often would fall asleep anyway. The seat creaks as you shift. Your dad opens both of his eyes. He makes a small noise of inquiry.</p><p>“I need to walk around.” You tell him, keeping your voice soft. “Do you want anything?”</p><p>He shakes his head. His chest slowly rises up and down as he drifts back to sleep. You get up. Your back hurts. More importantly, your ass hurts from sitting for so long. You wince once you’re standing. You look around in an attempt to figure out where you want to go. You walk down towards one of the windows. It would be nice to see something other than an increasingly bleak hospital room. You go over to it and stare out of it..</p><p>“You are a good daughter for taking care of your father like this.” The raspy voice of the other man startles you. You nearly jump as you turn around, a hand going to your chest. The man holds up his empty hands. Something like a smile flickers on his face. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”</p><p>“You’re fine! I’m just a very jumpy person.” You give him a reassuring smile. “And I mean, what am I supposed to do? I’m just grateful that he lets me help him.”</p><p>The man moves. The chemicals for his chemo are attached to an IV. The IV cart squeaks as he moves it. He comes to stand beside you at the window. He leaves you more space than you would have thought. He stares out the window for a long moment. “ Most children don’t care what happens to their parents as they get older. As their parents can no longer provide for them and are the ones who need to be provided for.”</p><p>“I like to think that most kids do try.” You pinch your lips together. Your brow furrows. “I mean, I know a lot of them don’t, but I like to have hope.”</p><p>“Hope.” The man repeats. “Hope is such a strange word, isn’t it?”</p><p>You turn to look at him better. A small smile makes its way onto your lips. “It is, but without it, we don’t have anything. We don’t even really have society without it since so many of our ideals are built on hope.” You pause, running your tongue over your teeth briefly. “Sorry. Philosophy major coming out just then.”</p><p>That makes the man smile for real. “No need to apologize. I find philosophy quite interesting. I certainly think it has more practical applications than most people realize.”</p><p>You nod vigorously. “It honestly does! I feel like people see philosophy as the highest floor in the ivory tower of academia, but it has a lot of real world applications. We just don’t think of it as philosophy at the time.”</p><p>“Are you looking to bridge the gap between the two?” You blink. “I noticed the thermodynamics textbook you were reading. Given your... passion for philosophy, I would assume that you’re studying something along the lines of medical ethics.”</p><p>“Sort of? It’s more engineering and ethics, if that makes sense?”</p><p>The man turns to face you all the way. “I suppose. I would like to hear your explanation.”</p><p>“Well, I mean, the most obvious example is biomechanical engineering and ethics. Stem cells are the poster boy for the ethics and science conversation. That and medical malpractice. But I think it extends beyond that. Everything has ethical implications when you come down to it, whether it’s where you get a resource from to where you build a building. And because engineering makes our life easier, that means it makes more ethical conundrums. If that makes sense.”</p><p>“The tools you create to help can often be used to hurt.” </p><p>You nod. “Exactly! That’s actually what I’ve been thinking but didn’t know how to say.”</p><p>“I agree with you.” The man looks back out the window. “In our haste to make our lives more convenient, we often end up damaging other’s lives. We have no regard for life itself anymore.”</p><p>You wrinkle your nose. You can feel him watching you out of the corners of his eyes. “I’m not entirely sure I believe that? I’m not saying you’re wrong. If anything, there’s a lot of evidence to support what you’re saying. I just... I don’t know. I don’t like the idea that we are so far removed from our own humanity that we can’t think about how what we’re doing affects others.” You pause and then let out a laugh. “Sorry. That just reminded me. I never asked your name.” You introduce yourself and hold out your hand.</p><p>To your surprise, he does take your hand and shake it. You get the feeling he doesn’t shake hands with people often. That he almost finds shaking his hands a privilege. “John Kramer. And the fault is mine. I should have introduced myself.”</p><p>You blink. Your eyes go wide. “Wait. John Kramer. Like the John Kramer?” He blinks. An amused glint is in his eyes.</p><p>“I wasn’t aware my reputation preceded me anymore.” You’re not entirely sure why, but it feels like he’s telling you a joke.</p><p>“If it doesn’t, I don’t know how. You did so much for this city!” You put a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I’ve lived in this area all my life, and both my parents have lived here since they were in their teens. So they got to see a lot of the good you did.”</p><p>A pleased, yet humble, smile makes its way onto John’s face. He looks back out the window. “I am glad that some still remember the good that I have done for this city. I know people will remember the good that I will do in the future. I have made sure of that.” His words have an odd feeling to them. It’s like they would be ominous coming from him in a different circumstance. You don’t think you’d hear him say something like that to you.</p><p>“Okay, I have to ask. Can I pick your brain about my thesis?” John turns his head just enough to look at you properly again. “It’s fine if you can’t or don’t want to. I just... The idea I’m working on is not something that a lot of people get off the bat. And I mean, you’re kinda the inspiration for my thesis idea.”</p><p>The corners of his lips turn upward. “I’m flattered. May I ask how so?”</p><p>“Well, most of your work with the Urban Renewal Group. It’s something so simple that helps a lot of people, but a lot of people in power won’t do it.” You can feel yourself becoming more animated as you speak. “And it’s a good use of space too in places with so little space. It kinda fits into the idea of ethical architecture? Beyond like, you know, not doing those stupid anti-homeless benches. It’s something that serves a purpose and gives a purpose.”</p><p>“What makes you think that purpose is important?”</p><p>“Well. I think it, combined with hope, ultimately drives society.” You lick your lips. “It’s all well and good to have hope by itself, but it doesn’t achieve anything. A purpose is good because it at least keeps you moving and doing things, but it’s...” You let out a long huff. “You can’t give someone a purpose and tell him it’s impossible. But he has to do it anyway. They’ll get so discouraged that they won’t even try. You have to give him something to do, something that will make his life meaningful, and then give him the hope that it can be done. If he just has the hope, he won’t do it. If he just has the purpose, he might not do it. But if he has both, he’ll do it, and he’ll do it well.” You stop. You realize that he hasn’t answered your initial question. You open your mouth, wanting to explain that he honestly doesn’t have to say yes, and that you shouldn’t have just sprung that question on him.</p><p>“I will let you pick my brain if I may yours in return.” John says before you can speak. The twinkle in his eyes tells you that he knew what you were about to say. “You have interesting ideas, ones that I think are very rare in this world. I think with the right medium, your ideas could create a lot of change in this world. Make it a better place.”</p><p>“Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.” You practically gush. John turns away from the window and begins to head back towards his seat.</p><p>“Your father has an appointment next week, correct?” He stops. He coughs, hard. The nurses at the station look up to see if he’s alright. </p><p>“Yeah. He has his shorter session next week, and then he’ll be off the week after that.” You confirm.</p><p>“Bring what you have of your paper next week, and I can take a look at it.” He coughs. “If you will excuse me, I must sit down.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come say hi over on my <a href="https://redandwhiteroses.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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